


An Angel and a Demon Walk Into a Furniture Store

by jibber_jabber



Series: The Ineffable Plan (to Live Happily Ever After) [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Domestic Disputes, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, Furniture Shopping, IKEA, IKEA Furniture, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), M/M, Romantic Fluff, this is just self-indulgent fluff tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:34:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24207520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jibber_jabber/pseuds/jibber_jabber
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley attempt to navigate domestic life after stopping the world from ending and realizing they have the rest of eternity to spend together. Their next challenge? Shopping at IKEA together. It goes about as well as you might expect.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: The Ineffable Plan (to Live Happily Ever After) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1747195
Comments: 2
Kudos: 35





	An Angel and a Demon Walk Into a Furniture Store

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place after [Aziraphale & Crowley's Ye Olde Book Club](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20564954), but it's not necessary to have read that beforehand :)

The law of the universe has always been such that opposites attract. For example, two magnets of opposite polarities will always be drawn to one another. Or in some cases, an angel and a demon, from Heaven and Hell respectively, become engaged in a romantic relationship.

The only known exception to this rule, however, is when the aforementioned angel and demon go furniture shopping for the flat that they cohabitate and discover they have clashing tastes in decor. And when this occurs, you might find them standing in the center of an aisle in IKEA, shouting at one another over the wood finish of an armoire.

“Dear boy, are you trying to suggest that a cherry wood finish would be better than mahogany?” said the angel Aziraphale, whose face was a strong shade of red.

“Sure. And I guess you’re trying to win the award for biggest stick up your arse.” The demon Crowley huffed, adjusting his sunglasses; wearing them indoors had resulted in some of the other customers calling him a tosser under their breath as they passed by. “I don’t really see what the fuss is all about. It’s just an armoire, angel.”

It certainly hadn’t been Crowley’s idea to go to the furniture store that morning. No, it was an idea born and raised in that fussy little head of Aziraphale’s. He’d decided that this was the millennia when he cultivated a more elegant and refined taste in interior design. After all, what else was there to do now that they had the rest of eternity to spend? After pumping Crowley full of caffeine with three cups of coffee, Aziraphale talked him into going. Technically, neither of them needed caffeine, and yet, Crowley always swore that he got a small energy boost from drinking caffeine (and often refused to cooperate without it just for the sake of being difficult).

“I’m so glad you decided to come,” Aziraphale had said as he beamed at Crowley and delicately placed a lamp with an ornate white shade into their cart. So far, they’d only traversed three aisles and the cart was almost full.

“Yes.” Crowley, whose caffeine had begun to wear off, gritted his teeth. “Such a delight to be here.”

Two more aisles of such nonsense brought them to the present moment, whereupon Aziraphale found the armoire he desired, and Crowley, thinking he might have a little bit of fun by riling the angel up, decided to pipe up with his (objectionable) opinion regarding the wood finish.

Aziraphale pressed a hand to his chest and scoffed. “ _Just_ an armoire? This is going to be the centerpiece of my newly furnished bedroom!” 

The change in Crowley’s demeanor was instant but almost imperceptible to anyone aside from Aziraphale, who had spent millennia observing his moods. “Your bedroom, huh?” Crowley pursed his lips and nodded furiously. “Right, yeah, ‘course. Just yours.”

“Crowley, that’s not—”

“No, no, I know exactly what you meant, ‘Ziraphale. No need to explain.”

After the world didn’t end, the two of them, finally unobserved by the forces of Heaven and Hell, stole a kiss in Aziraphale’s shop and never looked back. By this point, Crowley had all but moved in with Aziraphale. His jacket was draped over the back of the couch, multiple pairs of sunglasses littered the tables and desks, and even a few of his houseplants had migrated from his flat to the bookstore. They spent most nights there together, and the ones where Crowley went back to his flat to tend to the remainder of his plants seemed a little lonelier and colder to them both. But even after several months of this routine, Aziraphale still hadn’t given Crowley a key.

No bloody key. And now it was _his_ bedroom? 

Crowley did not like the sound of that. Not at all.

“Please don’t be upset, now.” Aziraphale’s voice had taken on that soothing effect he’d used for years to lead humans to a better life. “I didn’t mean it that way.”

“‘Course you didn’t,” Crowley mumbled. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to head to _your_ place. Seems I’m not needed here.”

“Crowley, wait—”

It was too late. Crowley had done what he did best—running away. He miracled himself into thin air, leaving Aziraphale to finish the shopping by himself.

* * *

Crowley was shouting at the plants again when Aziraphale finally came home. 

“Is that a wilting leaf I see here?” Gently, using two fingers, he lifted a leaf on a fern stationed by the front door. Then he ripped it off, and the fern quaked in its pot. “WHEN DID I SAY YOU LOT COULD HAVE WILTING LEAVES?! I DIDN’T. SO I SUGGEST YOU STOP FUCKING THIS UP AND GROW BETTER.”

Aziraphale slipped around Crowley with a quiet sigh. He hated when Crowley yelled at his plants, and most nights, during moments when he knew Crowley wouldn’t notice, he sang soft lullabies at night to soothe their nerves.

Crowley looked up but kept his gaze anywhere except Aziraphale’s face. “What happened to all the other shite you wanted to buy today?”

Only the lamp was in Aziraphale’s hands. 

“It would’ve been rather difficult to carry an armoire and the other items home with me.” He frowned, inspecting the lamp for any damage it might have incurred on his trip back from the store. “I suppose I could’ve miracled everything else here, but the young man helping me seemed so eager to assist me. I couldn’t say no.”

“Of course you couldn’t have,” Crowley muttered. He pulled the trigger on the spray bottle in his hand, and it let out faint hissing noises as it misted the leaves on his plants.

“Listen, Crowley—”

Crowley slammed the spray bottle on the nearest end table and stomped out of the room.

So much for talking, Aziraphale supposed.

He let out another sigh, this time a heavy one, as he set the lamp down beside the couch with the intention of moving it later, once Crowley had a chance to cool down. Then he left the flat and spent the rest of the afternoon wandering around St. James’ Park, enjoying a sunny spring day. By the time he returned to the bookstore, Crowley was nowhere to be seen.

“Crowley?”

No answer. 

Aziraphale shrugged, figuring he might have also been out enjoying the day, and turned to watch the sunset through his kitchen window. He hummed to himself—one of Mozart’s symphonies—while he heated his favorite kettle to make a steaming cup of chamomile tea. The tea traveled with him as he went to his room to change into a pair of ivory silk pajamas and snuggle in bed with his daily crossword puzzle.

But he couldn’t focus. He read and reread clues, wrote and erased answers, and still his mind kept flitting back to that argument in the furniture store. What on Earth had that even been about? One moment Crowley seemed to be at the very least indulging Aziraphale’s exuberance for decor and the next he’d been antagonizing him and shouting about an amoire. 

Aziraphale heard a quiet hiss. A snake with black and red scales slithered onto the sheets and up near his ear, peering over his shoulder at the crossword puzzle. It was Crowley. He’d transformed into a snake again, something that typically only happened these days when he was especially agitated. He reached forward and darted his forked tongue out so that it licked one of the blank spots on the puzzle. Aziraphale chuckled, lightly scratching the top of Crowley’s head.

“I’m quite sorry about earlier, dear boy,” he said. “It was only an armoire.”

He almost missed it, but Aziraphale thought he saw Crowley shake his snake head.

“No, I do mean it. I shouldn’t have lost my temper. I apologize.”

Crowley slid down and onto the floor, moving quickly out of the room. When he returned, he was in his human form again. He brushed off his jacket and ran a hand through his hair.

“How the bloody hell are you so nice all the time?” he said, groaning. “I was such an arsehole. I should be the one apologizing to you.”

“Well, I am an angel, dear. Comes with the territory,” Aziraphale said. “Sort of like being an… being not nice sometimes comes with being a demon.” He patted the space next to him. “Come to bed?”

Crowley nodded, snapped his fingers to miracle into a set of black pajamas, and climbed into bed beside Aziraphale. He dropped his head to rest on Aziraphale’s shoulder, letting the angel work his fingers gently through his red hair. “Why did you call it your place? Back at the furniture store.” Crowley’s voice wobbled a little, so Aziraphale knew he was more upset than he’d let on. “I mean, I basically live here now. Right?”

Aziraphale shifted to look Crowley in the eye. When he changed, he’d removed his sunglasses, and his eyes looked more vulnerable than usual. 

“Is that what this is about, Crowley?” Aziraphale said. He smiled warmly. “Just a force of habit. You’re welcome here any time. In fact.” He reached over to the nightstand by his bed and pulled open the drawer, fishing out a key attached to a small ring. “I thought you might like to have a key to my flat.”

Crowley took the key, the corners of his lips curling upwards. “About fucking time you gave me this, angel. Didn’t think I’d have to start a fight to make it happen.”

Aziraphale frowned, crossing his arms over his chest, the crossword puzzle tucked underneath his armpit. “Is that what this was all about?” he said. “If you wanted a key to my place, Crowley, you could have just asked.”

“Yeah.” Crowley shrugged. “But this was way more fun.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “You’re ridiculous.” But still, he laughed and set down his crossword puzzle before cradling the sides of Crowley’s face. He caressed his thumbs over Crowley’s cheeks before pulling him in for a soft kiss.

“Yes, but that,” Crowley said in between kisses, “is what you love about me.”

So he did, indeed.

That is how an angel and a demon, who had found themselves in a temporary dispute, restored the balance in their relationship, having forgotten the debacle of the armoire almost immediately. And they both thought to themselves as they went to sleep side-by-side that night, that if this was what eternity after the world’s almost end was like, then it wouldn’t be so bad after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for checking out my work! I always have so much fun writing for these ineffable idiots, and I hope you enjoyed it too. If you feel so inclined to leave a kudos or comment, thank you so much for your support :) It means the world to me.


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